The Sunshine State
by RealityKills
Summary: AU. After being forced to move to Florida, Romano storms out of his house. Unfortunately, he has no idea how to get back. Maybe a certain Spaniard can help him find his way? Oneshot. Spain/Romano


**Title: **The Sunshine State

**Warnings: **Romano's foul mouth, use of the 'f-bomb', eye-rape, possible grammar issues, sexy Spaniards, insanely hot weather, soccer, and slight mention of tomatoes.

**Word Count:** 1,852 according to Fanfiction.

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><p>It was a disappointingly bright and sunny afternoon when Lovino Romano Vargas stormed out of his brand-new home in a fit of anger. He desperately wished that it had been raining, or thundering, or even <em>misting<em> when he left, because at least that would cause his stupid grandfather and equally stupid little brother to worry about him a little. The idiots probably thought he was going out for a leisurely stroll, all because the damn weather couldn't cooperate.

It wasn't the first time Romano had left the company of his family in a huff, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. The difference was, when he had run out every other time, he had been able to locate a park or his childhood friend, Bella, until he cooled off. Now, however, he was in uncharted territory.

Romano had a nasty habit of forgetting that he had an absolutely rotten sense of direction when he was angry, and the thought of getting back home didn't occur to him as he twisted and turned down roads. Angry thoughts fueled the feverish pace at which he was walking, and the sweat caused by the blistering summer sun only added to his annoyance.

"Fucking sun," he cursed, swiping a hand through his dripping bangs yet again. "Fucking Feliciano, fucking Grandfather, fucking house, fucking America!" It didn't matter that Romano hadn't wanted to leave Italy in the first place. It hadn't mattered that Romano hated new places. It hadn't mattered that Romano would have been unwillingly uprooted from the culture that he secretly loved. No, it only mattered that _Feliciano_ wanted to go. Bastard.

Romano trudged on and on, grieving the loss of his homeland through nasty thoughts, muttered curses, and a lot of walking. He didn't even know why he was there in the first place. They had barely been there for a week and already he was ignored by his housemates. It would've been more beneficial to leave him in Europe, in Romano's opinion. Too bad his bastard of a brother would whine and cry about his absence. Like it mattered anyway.

Florida was a far cry from Southern Italy, where Romano had lived with his father since his parents' divorce, about ten years ago. Romano had loved everything about his home, including the rich history there, something that his Northern Italian brother had never been interested in. However, both parents had admitted to struggling as single parents and had given custody to the Vargas's only living grandfather. His first move was to uproot the two boys from their homes, something the friendly and easily excitable Feliciano had been overjoyed about. As if this place could ever replace Italy. Still, this state grew tomatoes. Something good had to be said about a state that grew such a heavenly crop.

While on the subject of tomatoes, Romano began to slow. The more he thought about the fruit, the hungrier he became. Anger and hunger naturally couldn't coincide, so by the time Romano's stomach had started growling, he found himself in a relatively good mood. Ah tomatoes. Such a godly fruit.

Unfortunately, without his anger to distract him, Romano became aware of how utterly _hot _a Florida summer was. Not long after that revelation did he notice that he was also hopelessly lost. Awesome.

Romano wasn't that worried. His English was accented, but understandable. He knew how to express himself and had no doubt that he could hold a conversation with a passerby to figure out how he needed to get home. The problem was, _there was no fucking passerby_. There weren't even any cars out, and that shit only happens at night in horror movies! Romano weighed his options for a moment, then shrugged and continued forward. Sure, he was hungry, but if he tried to back track, he'd probably end up in Alabama before he figured that a left turn wasn't a good move. Besides, he had to encounter _someone_ along the way.

Romano had been walking for about fifteen minutes before he passed by what looked like a school. He then noticed the sign (Ha! It had been a school!) and proceeded forward again. Too bad it was summertime and no one would be _in _the school. However, when he walked forward a little ways, he noticed a field with a bunch of teenage boys in work out clothes, kicking around a ball. They were playing football-ah, soccer. Romano was watched the teens for a little while, immediately drawn to a brown skinned, optimistic boy with dark, curly brown hair. Even the hot sun and the physical exertion couldn't dim his enjoyment, and Romano couldn't help but stare at the grace he handled the checkered ball with. Romano couldn't tear his eyes away.

Romano watched the boy until a shrill sound of a whistle pulled him back to reality. Most of the boys ran off the field at once, scampering to get their equipment and retreat from the blistering heat. However, the tan boy, an albino boy, and a boy with slicked back blonde hair stayed for a few minutes longer, kicking the ball around good-naturedly. When the coach gave a yell from the sideline, the albino and the well built blonde hurried off and collected their things. The tan boy took much more time to walk over to the soccer ball and pick it up (which gave Romano a very nice view of his... gym shorts) before glancing toward the fence where Romano was standing. The Italian immediately went red, but the tan boy gave a disarming smile and wandered over to the fence.

"_Hola!" _He greeted cheerfully, as if there was nothing wrong with ogling a random boy while he was at soccer practice. Well, he may not feel painfully awkward, but Romano sure did, so he ignored the boys greeting and focused his gaze on the ground. "Do you like soccer?"

Well, that hadn't been the question he was expected. Romano had to pull his attention away from the hot, sexy Spanish accent before he could give an intelligent "Huh?" in reply.

"You were watching us practice, right? You must really like soccer!" Romano pulled his gaze back to the boy in front of him in pure amazement. Could the boy not see that he had been eye-raping him?

"Not really," Romano answered, much to the displeasure of the boy in front of him. He tried to find a cool, or at least relatively prideful, way to mention that he, a sixteen year old, had gotten himself lost. "I just wandered here by mistake."

"Oh?" The Spaniard's face lit up again. "You are new here, then?"

Did he not notice the clearly Italian accent?

"Yes. I just moved from Italy."

"Really?" Apparently he hadn't.

"Yes," Romano deadpanned again.

"That's a long way," the boy speculated. "I moved from Spain a couple of years ago."

Romano hummed, not really one for conversation, and noticed that the coach had given up on trying to gain the Spaniard's attention and was heading home. "Your friends left," he commented.

"Yeah, they leave earlier than I do," the Spaniard nodded. "So what brought you to a high school in the summer time?"

Romano flushed at the innocent question and answered with a defensive "I was just going for a walk, bastard!"

The Spaniard blinked in surprise at the outburst, before smiling again. "Ah, I get it, you got lost!"

"Did not!" Romano snapped, turning redder.

"It's okay, it happened to me the first time I went for a walk too! Where's your house?"

Romano gave up on saving his pride and muttered a reluctant, "Axis Road, I think."

"That's around the corner from me! I'll drive you down the road and you can tell me which one looks like your house!" Romano's cheerful companion ignored Romano's refusals and cries of kidnap, yapping happily away about anything that came to mind.

"Ah, I don't know your name! I'm Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo!"

"... Lovino Romano Vargas."

"Ah, what a cute name! I'll call you Lovi~!"

"Don't."

The ride home with Antonio continued in much the same way. Antonio prattled on, fiddling with the radio from time to time, and Romano tried to hide the fact that the bastard kind of interested him. The heat didn't affect the Spaniard's mood at all, despite the edge it had on Romano's already bad temperament. Romano became more and more irritated with Antonio's chatter the longer the car ride lasted, and turned to tell him off after ten minutes. After catching sight of the boy's bright smile and warm eyes, though, Romano felt himself melt into a puddle of goo. He quickly turned to stare out of the passenger window again.

"-And a fluffy pillow is really what makes it worth it, right Lovi?"

"Shut up."

Finally, after fifteen minutes, Romano spotted his house. He must have been angrier than he thought, if he had walked that far.

"Hey bastard-"

"Antonio~!"

"-the obnoxious golden house is mine."

"Okay~!" Antonio pulled into the driveway neatly. Romano made to get out, but found his door locked. When he glared over at Antonio, he found the boy only inches away.

"I saw you looking at me, Lovi~," he whispered lowly. "You're pretty attractive too." The Spaniard snuck a chaste kiss on the Italian's lips, unlocking the doors as he pulled back. Romano huffed, spewed a few curse words at Antonio, and tried to hide his cherry-red face as he all but tumbled out of the car. He was halfway to the front door before the Spaniard called him again.

"What, bastard?" He yelled.

"I have soccer practice at twelve tomorrow~!" With that, Antonio pulled out of the driveway. Romano watched him leave incredulously, before relaxing his expression into a smile. Maybe there was something good about Florida after all.

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><p><strong>AN:** So this is probably the longest story I've ever posted. I'm kind of proud of that. Anyway, there's a good amount of fluff (It's good for the soul, bad for the teeth) mixed in with some Spamano cuteness. That equals a happy authoress. Feedback would be appreciated. I tried to keep it kind of in character (even though I ridiculously overused the word 'Spaniard'), but I've been wrong before.

Oh, by the way, Florida was chosen because it was near my home and because it grew tomatoes. I'm not actually from there, if anyone was wondering.


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